Always Back to You
by Starlight05
Summary: When Alison Hawk returns to London for a funeral, the last thing she expects is to be swept away by Sherlock Holmes. His sudden reappearance in her life quickly leads to a world of spies, lies, and tricks up sleeves that might change everything. OC story, but not romance. DISCONTINUED
1. Alison

Chapter One: Alison

oOOOo

Alison opened the door to her flat, tired from a long day at work. Being a forensic scientist was not all the glamour and drama that the crime shows made it out to be, she thought with a yawn.

As she was putting down her bags and taking off her shoes, her phone pinged. She grumbled, telling it to shut up.

But it pinged again, this time twice in quick succession, and she grinned suddenly, now knowing who it was.

_Bored. John's gone out. SH_

_We broke Mycroft's umbrella by accident yesterday. You would have enjoyed seeing his reaction. SH_

_Bored! You surely must be home from work by now. SH_

Still grinning, she threw back a reply.

_That's hilarious; how'd you break it? And don't call me Shirley. AH_

A few moments later, the reply came.

_It's a long story, really, but I think John's putting it on the blog. SH_

She laughed, seeing an opportunity to annoy him.

_Sherly you can't be serious! AH_

And a mere twenty seconds later...

_That's not funny, Alison. SH_

_Yes, it is. AH_

oOOOo

_Six months later..._

Alison was curled on her couch watching Doctor Who reruns when her phone rang. She muted the show, cutting off the TARDIS in mid-materialization, and answered.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Hawk? This is Detective Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard."

"Yes?" she said, surprised. Then she registered the tone of his voice. "Is there something the matter?"

"It's about Sherlock Holmes," he said, sounding hesitant. "I take it you knew him?"

"Yes," she stammered. "Has something happened to him?"

There was silence on the other end, and she waited.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but he's dead, Ms. Hawk," Lestrade's voice was barely a whisper over the phone.

She froze. "No, no that can't be."

Lestrade sounded upset. "It's true. He... he jumped, or fell, I don't know, off a building. He died on impact."

"No," Alison whispered, the remote falling out of her hand, her other hand squeezing the phone like a lifeline. "Why would he do something like that?"

"Turn on BBC news," Lestrade said, a catch in his voice. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can..."

Alison sighed. "It's okay, Detective Inspector. Thank you."

She hung up before he could reply, frozen for a moment. This couldn't be happening... Sherlock wouldn't kill himself. There was no way. He thought himself too brilliant, that the world would be a worse place without him.

No, she couldn't believe this! She scrambled, her fingers stumbling across the phone's screen.

It rang once, twice, then three times, all the while Alison nearly hyperventilating.

"Hello?"

_"Sherlock?"_ she cried, grabbing at the pillow next to her.

"No... Um, I'm sorry. Sherlock is... gone. This is John Watson. Who is this?"

Alison hung up, then threw the phone across the room, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She numbly grasped the remote control and switched channels. The screen filled with images from a grainy mobile phone video of a dark, unmistakable figure flying through the air. Then, several still shots flashed on the screen of a bloody body on the pavement.

"_Suicide of Fake Genius_" was the news segment's title.

"Oh God!" Alison cried, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "Sherlock!"

oOOOo

Alison was impatient. Public transport was so inefficient sometimes. The train from Cardiff to London was late, and Alison was getting the feeling that she would miss most of the funeral.

Just as well, though, because she really had no idea what to say to John Watson or Lestrade.

She sighed. "I'm coming, Sherlock."

oOOOo

"You're an idiot."

Hmm, perhaps not the best way to open a... conversation?... with a dead person, but it couldn't be helped now.

"You really are, Sherlock Holmes," she continued, crossing her arms. She stood a few feet away from his gravestone, gleaming black and perfect, his name staring at her tauntingly. "Why would you do this? Since when did you care what people thought of you? None of this makes sense, Sherlock, and you always said I was brilliant! So why doesn't this make any sense?"

She sighed, letting her chin drop to her chest, fresh tears sliding down her face. "It's been three days, Sherlock, since Lestrade called me. Three days since I called your phone, hoping he was wrong, and hearing John answer instead. And all this time, I've been trying to understand. And the only conclusion I can come up with is you are an idiot!"

She had to pause for a moment to wipe her eyes. Finally, she looked up again, her reflection on the gravestone staring back at her.

"Maybe I'm an idiot as well, then. All these years and I've been away, letting us just be distant friends. And now I let you slip away and there's no going back."

She sighed, then turned to leave. She got about three steps before she froze and looked back. "Goodbye, Sherlock," she whispered.

oOOOo

When Alison left the cemetery, she realized she had nowhere to stay. She didn't dare bother John Watson, especially since he had no idea who she was. So she caught another cab and headed to a hotel, one right near the Tower Bridge. She checked into a room and tossed her things down, laying on the bed and burying her face in the pillow. What was she going to do now?

Her phone pinged suddenly, making her jump.

_Meet me at Angelo's restaurant, Ms. Hawk, if it's not too much trouble. 7 pm. It's on Northumberland Street. You and I have things to discuss._

Alison frowned and texted back.

_Who is this? How did you get this number? Oh... Mycroft, is it? _

_I am Mr. Holmes, yes._

She nodded to herself. If she had to face Sherlock's brother tonight, fine. If she could deal with Sherlock's suicide, she could deal with his brother.

_Alright, I'll be there. _

oOOOo

She took the Tube to Angelo's, a usual spot of she and Sherlock's. Nostalgia washed over her as she walked in, and Angelo, the man himself, smiled at her. He had known Alison and Sherlock for much longer than John Watson knew, and he headed over.

"Hello, Alison," he greeted, less than his normal jolly self. "How are you, love?"

"I'm alright," she replied, mustering a smile. "I'm sorry I didn't see you at the ceremony today, the train ran late."

He shrugged it off with a wave. "These things happen. Should I bring you the usual?"

"You still remember after all this time," she said with a smirk. "Sure, thanks."

He nodded and headed back to the kitchen, leaving her alone. She glanced around, expecting Mycroft to appear at any moment.

But something seemed off. Angelo didn't seem nearly as upset as she would expect him to be. Why would that be...?

"Alison?" A soft, deep voice behind her made her jump. She turned and her jaw dropped. Because there, across the room, was Sherlock Holmes. He grinned at her, his storm-on-an-ocean eyes as bright as always.

Once she got over her initial shock, she found herself smiling. "Hey, Sher," she murmured back. "Long time, no see."

**Have a blessed Easter everyone! :)**


	2. New Neighbor

Always Back to You

Chapter Two: New Neighbor

oOOOo

_Alison walked into the laboratory, seeing to her surprise that she was not alone. A boy was there, intently bent over a microscope. He glanced up as she entered, then looked back down immediately._

_She sat at the lab table across from him and pulled out her lab notebook, sneaking a glance at the boy. He looked vaguely familiar; she thought he might be in her chemistry lecture class. And actually, now that she thought about it, he was quite handsome, with his dark hair and fair skin and green-gray eyes. How had she not noticed him before?_

_Clearly he had grown up in a nice house, maybe was even rich, and had ... a brother? Yes, an older one._

_"Are you enjoying Chemistry?" he asked suddenly, glancing at her again and interrupting her thoughts._

_She blinked. "Yeah, I am," she replied without hesitation. "Though some of the people there are a bit dull."_

_He looked up at that, really looking at her for the first time. A slight smirk played across his face._

_"I'm Alison," she said, flicking on her microscope._

_"Sherlock," he replied with a polite nod._

_She smiled and turned back to her microscope. The two of them worked in silence for a while, then Sherlock finished with his experiment and packed up his things. As he made to leave, he turned, leaning on the door._

_"So I'll see you around, then, Alison?"_

_She looked up and smiled at him, surprised this boy was actually paying attention to her. Few others did. "Yeah, I guess you will."_

_He grinned and was gone._

oOOOo

Alison stood and stepped over to the table at which Sherlock sat. He rose and looked at her intently, obviously deducing her.

She punched him on the arm.

He raised an eyebrow. "That's not how most people greet an old friend."

"No, but we aren't most people, and you're technically dead," she replied, then yanked him into a hug.

Surprised, he nevertheless patted her on the back. "It is good to see you again, Alison."

She pulled back, frowning in confusion. She really had no idea what to think of this new development. How was he alive? "You too, you big clot. What were you thinking, jumping off a roof like that?"

He gestured for her to take a seat. She did, glancing around at the empty restaurant, wondering why no one else was here.

"Angelo's doing me a favor," Sherlock explained, seeing her unspoken question. "I can't afford to be seen alive, at least not yet, but I needed to talk to you, face to face. This seemed to be the easiest option."

She nodded. "But the roof...?" she prompted again.

He sighed, looking at her briefly and then away just as quickly. "I had no other choice, that's all you need to know."

"Sherlock..."

"But I do need your help," he continued, and she stopped, frowning.

"You're asking me for help?" she said. "Why not John?"

He shook his head slightly. "John can't know-"

"What, that you're alive? Sherlock, he _needs_ to know!"

"He can't know, that's the point," Sherlock snapped. "It'll put him in danger."

She looked at him for a moment, uncertain, but saw the worry in his eyes. He really did need her, for some reason.

"Sherlock," she began. "The last time we saw each other was what, seven years ago? Eight? I'm hardly your best friend anymore."

He sighed, looking slightly hurt, so she reached out and touched his arm. "You just assume I'll help you, you're not even going to ask?"

"Well," he stammered.

She smiled and cut off his protest. "I'm glad you still know me so well."

A smile spread across his face as they looked at each other. "You'll help?" he asked softly.

"For lack of a better word, duh," she winked. "But what do you need?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, then paused as Angelo arrived with Alison's food. As soon as he was gone, Sherlock leaned forward.

"I need you to take care of John."

Alison froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. "Why?"

Sherlock sighed. "Just make sure he's... coping."

"Okay," Alison said quickly, realizing what he meant, taking his hand. "Okay, I'll do it, but what about you?"

He shook his head. "You can't do anything to help me, not directly, just keep an eye on John. I'll try to keep you in the loop, but I don't know where I'll have to go to take out Moriarty's network."

Alison nodded. "I still don't see why you have to keep John in the dark."

"Moriarty's men will still be in the city. If John's behavior changes, if he knows I'm alive, he'll be in more danger than ever. They're still looking for me, not sure what to believe, so they'll be watching him closely. But you, they don't know you, they won't suspect that you know me."

"Sherlock," Alison interrupted, her hand to her forehead. "Can you slow down? Ten minutes ago I didn't know you were alive!"

He blinked. "Right. Sorry."

"Still," she added. "I am glad you're not dead."

He smiled. "Thank you."

"You're still clean?"

Rolling his eyes, he nodded. "Yes."

"Good."

They sat in companionable silence for a while as Alison ate. Sherlock watched her, comparing her current appearance to how she had looked the last time he had seen her. Her dark brown hair was longer, parted differently, recently cut. Her lightly tanned skin told him she still took regular runs, but he also noticed her work in forensics was giving her a hard time recently. He still wondered why she hadn't just become an author, or at least worked in a book shop like she had wanted. Instead, she had followed the career her parents had pressured her into.

She raised an eyebrow. "You're staring."

"No, I'm deducing."

"Oh, same thing, Sher."

He chuckled. She placed her napkin on the table and stood. He rose as well, grabbing his coat.

She hesitated. "If we're going to do this right, I'll need your phone number, since John has your old phone."

"Here," he said, quickly jotting it down on a slip of paper. "See you there tomorrow then?"

"Yeah." She paused, then gave him a fleeting hug. He grinned at her then strode out.

She was pulling on her own coat when Angelo came over to fetch her empty dish.

"I don't know what frequency you two operate on, Alison," he said with a chuckle. "But I can't make head or tail of it!"

"Once you learn to operate on Sherlock's level of thinking, it's hard to go back," she replied with a slight smirk. "Don't tell anyone what you overheard, though."

"Of course not, love," he promised. "Who'd believe me, anyway?"

She smiled and gave him a wave as she left. "Who indeed?" she murmured.

oOOOo

_The next day..._

The old government officials in the room were rather startled, which was the point of course.

Clanging the cowbell as loudly as she could in her right hand, she held up a sign in her left, a faint smirk on her face.

"Get Mycroft," the sign said.

Well, that got results.

oOOOo

"Ms. Hawk, to what do I owe this unorthodox pleasure?" Mycroft greeted as she was shoved rather bodily into the room by two irritated men.

She straightened up, shoving the bell and sign back in her bag. "I think you know why, Mycroft. Sherlock asked me for help, but to do that I need a clean record."

He raised an eyebrow. "Meaning...?"

"Meaning if Moriarty's men want to investigate the new girl living at Baker Street, I don't want them to learn just who Sherlock Holmes' lab partner was in school. Or who's been keeping in touch with him ever since graduation."

"So you're taking the flat then?"

She nodded, sitting down in the seat Mycroft offered her. "Not much choice. Sherlock needs me to keep an eye on John, and 221C seemed the logical choice."

"Well then, the renovations, courtesy of yours truly, are nearly finished, so you can move in in a few days."

"Thank you. I know this must be an inconvenience."

Mycroft shook his head. "Looking after my brother, though occasionally trying, is not an inconvenience."

He looked back up at her. "Your records will not be a problem."

"Thank you," she said gratefully and stood to leave.

"Ms. Hawk," Mycroft called after her, and she spun on her heel to face him again. "Thank you for being there for him. He will need someone he cares about to support him in the days to come."

She smiled. "I'll be sure to make sure he doesn't do anything idiotic."

"Good. And Ms. Hawk? Next time, don't bring the cowbell."

oOOOo

Three days later...

John looked up from his book as he heard voices downstairs. He stood, wincing at the faint twinge in his leg. The limp was starting to come back, and nothing he did seemed to help. It had begun to reemerge the day after Sherlock... Well, after that.

Mrs. Hudson sounded happier than she had in days, and John distantly remembered her mentioning that there was a girl interested in the downstairs flat. It was a good thing Mycroft Holmes had offered less than a week ago to help clean it up, wasn't it? How lucky for them!

He headed down the stairs, grudgingly curious. It was unusual for him to feel anything but numb sadness lately, but this wonder about the new tenant was rapidly overriding that, at least for now.

Mrs. Hudson stood by the front door, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in ages. Next to her stood a girl, well a woman really, probably about Sherlock's age. John winced. He didn't like to say that name, not even in his mind. But it had popped out accidentally this time, brought on by the woman's appearance. She glanced up at him, and a polite smile spread across her fair face. Dark brown hair fell down her back and over her shoulders, slightly windswept from the brisk London winds but still retaining its curls. From that, John deduced (he winced again) that she didn't like her naturally straight hair and so spent a lot of time styling it in the morning. Looking past her hair, he met her hazel eyes, and was startled by the intensity of her gaze.

It reminded John of... him.

"Oh, John love, this is Alison," Mrs. Hudson introduced, noticing him standing there. "She's our new neighbor."

John smiled. "I remember, Mrs. H. You mentioned her the other day."

He stepped forward and shook Alison's hand. She had a confident grip, which he wasn't expecting. "Nice to meet you. I'm John Watson."

Before Alison could reply, Mrs. Hudson gave a soft gasp. "I forgot! I made some biscuits, just a little welcome gift, Alison!"

She looked over at the landlady, who darted back into her own flat. "You didn't have to do that," Alison protested, laughter in her voice. She glanced at John, who smirked.

"She likes to mother us," he commented. "You'll get used to it. Of course, you probably will take care of your flat, so she won't feel inclined to come clean it like she does our- mine."

Alison smiled. "She likes to feel useful, I suppose," she observed.

"So what made you decide to move?" he asked, glad to have someone new to talk to who didn't seem to know who he and Sherlock were. It was rather refreshing, in a strange way.

"I left my old job and so had to move. Ending up in London was sort of an unexpected turn of events, I guess you could say," she replied easily, flicking an errant lock of hair behind her. "I got a little job in a bookshop for now."

"What did you do before? If that's not too personal..."

"No, it's fine John," she smiled. "I worked in forensics, thanks to my parents' pressure, but while it was interesting, my real passion is books, reading and writing them."

_Forensics... _John winced again as an echo of insults about IQ's bounced around in his head. He was saved from having to come up with a response, being now lost for words, when Mrs. Hudson came back in, bearing a plate of biscuits. John and Alison took one, and they stood talking a bit more, before finally John had an excuse to escape, claiming he needed to go get the shopping. Alison called out a bright farewell, and Mrs. Hudson patted him on the back as he passed her.

Out on the street, he took a deep breath. It was hard to keep up a pleasant, not depressed facade with other people, but he was glad he seemed to have fooled Alison. She seemed nice enough, but having a neighbor who wasn't ... him ... still managed to bother John.

I wish you were here, he thought morosely, glancing at the mobile phone he still carried in his pocket, its screen shattered, the sound of that echoing through his memory.

Come back, Sherlock.

oOOOo

Alison managed to shake off sweet Mrs. Hudson at last, several minutes later, and headed into her new flat. Her belongings would arrive the next day from Cardiff, and Mycroft was sending over furniture. Under her name of course; they couldn't risk Mrs. Hudson or John or especially Moriarty's men knowing Mycroft knew her.

She looked around the flat. The damp had been dealt with and everything cleaned, and the place didn't look half bad. Alison saw it had potential, but really, she figured it would be temporary. She had no idea how long this bizarre operation as spy for Sherlock would last. Still, Mrs. Hudson was lovely, and even John had welcomed her.

She thought back to what she'd seen in his eyes. A flash of pain when she'd told him her old job, a limp barely perceptible to mundane people, and a definite look of sorrow deep in his eyes told her how much Sherlock's fake death had hurt him. It had made her want to spit out the truth, and only at the last second did she remind herself that she and Sherlock were doing this to protect John. That alone made her bite her tongue, even though she already liked the doctor and wanted him to know what was really going on here.

A soft knock on the small dingy window - which she would need to clean - broke her out of her reverie. She stood and walked over to it, peering intently through the dirt and met Sherlock's eyes. Startled, she threw open the window, checking the door as she did so to make certain Mrs. Hudson was not standing there. Sherlock slid through with an annoying amount of grace.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, shutting the door and locking it just to be sure. "Do you know how risky this is? What if someone saw you sneaking in?"

He shook his head, perching in the single chair in the room. "Mycroft has control of the CCTV and I've been able to navigate the streets of London under his radar for years anyway. No one saw me."

"But why are you here? Isn't the point of spying for someone being the only one here to gather intel, not having the one you're spying for waiting in your sitting room?" She crossed her arms.

He shrugged. "This is faster than text."

"What, walking all the way here? You can't exactly risk a cab, and I doubt Mycroft is willing to cart you _everywhere_."

To her surprise and slight satisfaction, she saw him blush slightly. At least she could still successfully tease him. "Shut up, what's wrong with talking to you face to face anyway?" he said, making her grin.

"How's John?"

The grin slid off her face in response to the question. "He's ... doing alright. Coping."

"I know you saw more than that," he said sternly.

She hesitated. Sherlock already looked guilty enough at the mere thought of John; did he really need to hear the details of the state of the life of his grieving friend?

"Ali," he murmured. "Tell me. I can take it."

"His limp is coming back, and he obviously is affected by every mention of something that reminds him of you," she burst out. "Sher, he looked so alone. Are you sure I can't tell him?"

"I'm sure," he replied, pressing his fingers together under his chin. His eyes betrayed no emotion, but Alison knew he was worried. Nearly eight years had taught her no small amount about Sherlock Holmes, so she could certainly tell when he was unhappy.

"Fine," she sighed, sitting on the floor, leaning against his legs. She turned her head so that she was looking at him upside-down, and frowned. "Is there really any particular reason you're here, though?"

"Actually, kind of," he smirked softly. She noticed he started playing with a lock of her hair, almost absentmindedly. Unusual for him with most people, but usual for his ease around her. "There's some things on my old mobile phone I need. Could you get it for me?"

"I can try, but John keeps it with him. I don't know how I'll get it away from him."

Sherlock frowned. "You'll find a way." But he still looked preoccupied with this fresh bit of news.

They sat in silence for a while, Alison trying to figure out how to get the phone from John and how she would be able to keep the secret from him. It seemed like it was going to be difficult, especially since she had met the man and already liked him. She still had a day to figure it out, however, since her belongings weren't due to arrive until tomorrow, and there wasn't even a bed in this flat yet. After several minutes, she rose. Sherlock stayed in the chair, watching her pick up her bag.

"I've got to go back to the hotel for tonight," she explained, even though he probably knew that. "I'll text you when I get your old mobile."

He nodded, still half lost in thought. "See you tomorrow."

She watched, slightly amused, as he climbed back out the window. Locking it up again, she headed out the front door, pausing only to say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson.

Stepping out onto the street a moment later, she decided to walk back to the hotel, needing a bit of exercise and time to think. And even though she hadn't lived in London for years, she still knew the way perfectly. It was just early evening, so there were enough people out and about to make her feel secure enough to walk. She pulled her bag higher on her shoulder and began to walk, enjoying the gentle breeze.

Two streets later, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, but before she got it halfway out, it vibrated again.

_Ali. There's someone watching you. You need to get a cab. Now. SH_

_They're following you. SH_

**I hope Sherlock wasn't too out of character, and even if he was, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Any review is welcome!**


	3. It's Just Her

**Sorry it's been a while! I had a ton to do the past week, and this coming week's looking similar. Hopefully there will be a new chapter sooner though, but for now, enjoy this one!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing at all to do with Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Who, or Harry Potter, the latter two of which there are references in this. **

**Oh, and I don't know really anything about chemistry.**

Always Back to You

Chapter Three: It's Just Her

oOOOo

_"Everyone choose a lab partner. Now keep in mind, you will keep the same partner all term, so choose wisely."_

_Alison looked around the room. She didn't really know any of these people well, as her friends had all ended up in a different chemistry class together. The only friend she did have here had already latched herself onto a handsome boy she had not stopped flirting with since their first class. Luckily, the boy didn't look too upset about the pairing. Alison smiled. _

_"Hey," came a soft voice behind her. She turned to see Sherlock, smiling tentatively. They hadn't spoken since they had met in the lab last week, but at least he had seemed friendly then. _

_"Hi, Sherlock," she greeted. Without hesitation, she gestured to the stool next to her, and he took a seat, looking relieved. _

_Their professor left the lab packets on the front table, so Sherlock retrieved two for them. They set about completing the lab, a rather simple exercise. At least for Alison. Sherlock seemed to be struggling, so she helped him along. _

_"Sorry," he apologized, as he emptied the pipette's contents onto the powder. They watched it fizz. "I'm not the best at chemistry, though I've always been fascinated by it."_

_"Don't worry. I'm actually self-taught in it. I went to a school with a crap science program, so I had to go it alone," she replied, recording results in her notebook. _

_"Self-taught?" he repeated, intrigued. "No one at my school cared enough to do something like that."_

_"Few people do," she murmured. "But why no one at your school? You went to some posh school, didn't you."_

_It wasn't a question, but a statement. Sherlock looked at her, surprised. How had she known that...?_

_She smiled, her lips quirking up and a sparkle in her hazel eyes. Sherlock found himself smiling back instantly, though he was still confused. He was comfortable with her, he realized, which was quite a new situation. She was just so easy to talk to. _

_"How did you know?" he asked. _

_"I'm observant," she returned. "I can notice things about people, little details-"_

_"And from there, deduce larger conclusions about their lives."_

_She stopped and stared at him. It was his turn to smile, this time in something like wonder. "You can do it too?"_

_They gazed at each other, so wrapped up in their amazement that they didn't notice their professor watching them sternly. He approached them and sat down across from them._

_"Are you two finished flirting?" he asked, glaring, voice dangerous. A couple lab groups near them looked around, interested in what was happening. _

_Sherlock snapped out of it, wrenching his gaze off Alison. "Yes, Professor, sorry," he apologized, smiling disarmingly. _

_As he walked away, Sherlock turned back to Alison. "Well, that will have dropped our grade on this," he muttered, turning back to the experiment. _

_She shrugged. "I don't care, to be honest. I'm better at this than at least half the people here, not that I'm bragging. I'm just saying, he'll have to give me a good grade on the final."_

_Sherlock chuckled. "You seem very sure of yourself."_

_"I usually am." She smiled again, and once again, Sherlock found himself swept away by the light in her eyes. What was going on here? He didn't like people... _

_Maybe it was just Alison._

oOOOo

Alison's eyes widened, but instead of looking around for her pursuer, she kept walking, trusting Sherlock to have her back. She raised her phone to her ear, miming that she was talking on it.

"Hey, love," she answered an imaginary friend, louder than normal. "I'm running late, so I'm just going to grab a cab... Yeah, alright, see you soon!"

She spotted a cab up ahead and quickly flagged it down. Thank goodness for her uncanny luck at summoning them, she thought, glad the ability had not faded over time.

"Tower Hotel," she said to the cabbie, double checking him to ensure he was just a civilian, which he was. As the cab pulled away, she stole a look at the street and spotted a tall someone watching the cab drive away. A telltale bulge in his jacket pocket made her shudder; that was far too close.

_Good idea, with the fake phone call. SH_

She half-smiled in spite of herself, though her heart was hammering a bit harder than normal.

_Thanks. AH_

_Are you alright? SH_

_Do we know who that was? Why was he following me? And yes, I'm fine. AH_

_Not at the moment, but we will soon. SH_

_How? AH_

_M's looking into it for us. He saw it on the feeds and sent me a live-stream. SH_

"M"would be Mycroft and the feeds the CCTV footage, of course. Alison figured that her unknown pursuer was one of Moriarty's men, investigating John's new neighbor.

This is already getting dangerous, Alison observed. I hope this is as far as it goes. Ha, as if. It's a Sherlock situation.

Her phone buzzed again.

_Do you want me to stay with you tonight? And don't take that the wrong way, as you're prone to do. SH_

She smirked.

_Thanks for the offer, but that's alright. AH_

_Too late. I'm in your hotel room. SH_

_Way to stalk, Sher. AH_

_Shut up. SH_

oOOOo

Alison slipped the key card into the slot in the door and swung it open, a green light clicking on as it unlocked. Sherlock was sitting on one of the two beds in the room, eyes alert, scanning her in that keen way he did.

He stood once she shut the door, strode over, and hugged her tightly.

"Bit out of character," she commented wryly when he let go.

He scowled, which was more like him. "I just didn't think this would get so dangerous for you so soon. Moriarty's men move quickly."

"Do you know who it was yet?"

"Not yet, but I have an informant I should hear from in the morning," he replied, turning and peering out the window, barely moving the curtain.

She dropped her bag on the other bed, not bothering to question how Sherlock managed to sneak into the hotel. "So who is this informant?"

"You'll meet him tomorrow."

She nodded, trusting this nutcase, though she had no idea why.

She went into the bathroom, pulled her pajamas from her bag, and changed quickly, then rejoined Sherlock. He had moved to a squashy chair and was rapidly sending off texts, eyes fixed intently on the screen. Alison checked her own phone, having left it on the bed, and found several messages.

_Sebastian Moran. -M_

_Your furniture and belongings will arrive at Baker Street at half past seven. -M_

_I'll be sending you a new phone tomorrow morning. Pick it up at Angelo's at ten. Additionally, Sherlock will have to leave the country in two days, as Moriarty has a branch of his network in America as well. To keep you safe, I'm arranging a meeting with Sherlock's informant so you can have another ally here. Assuming you don't want to deal exclusively with me. He will be there with your new phone at Angelo's. -M_

_Hey, Alison, it's John Watson. Mrs. Hudson gave me your number. Want to have lunch tomorrow in my flat at noon, as a sort of housewarming gift?_

Alison smiled at that last text. She quickly replied to Mycroft, thanking him for the information and plan for the next day, then told John she would love to have lunch, glad that he seemed to want to befriend her. Or maybe Mrs. Hudson had convinced him to do it... Either way, she appreciated the offer.

"Busy day tomorrow," she said aloud to Sherlock, who looked up from his own phone.

"Mycroft texted you as well?"

She nodded. "He told me the plan for tomorrow, and that you're leaving for America in two days. Do you think you can stop that branch?"

He nodded. "I have no other choice."

She stifled a yawn, which of course the consulting detective didn't miss. "You should sleep, Ali."

"It's not that late," she protested half-heartedly, glancing at the clock. It was barely half past nine.

"You've had a crazy few days," he countered, flopping back down onto his own bed. "After all, I did come back from the dead, and now you're helping me stop an actually-dead madman's crime web."

"True," she agreed as she crawled under the covers. Flicking off the light, she curled up comfortably. "You better get some rest, too," she commented, watching Sherlock's silhouette in the faint glow from the window. He turned.

"Alison, you know me," she heard the smile in his voice. "I never sleep on a case."

"Don't make me sedate you!"

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you."

Alison laughed. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, Alison."

oOOOo

When Alison woke up in the morning, Sherlock was already gone, the sheets on his bed rumpled and one pillow on the floor. She rolled her eyes but left the bed how it was, knowing the hotel staff would take care of it. Once she dressed, she gathered up her things and left, checking out down at the front desk, then hailing a cab. She surreptitiously checked the street for any suspicious characters lurking nearby, but saw none.

She arrived at Baker Street to find a lorry waiting there, obviously sent by Mycroft. Her new furniture had arrived then, and probably her possessions from her flat in Cardiff. She went up to the lorry driver, who was talking with Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, Alison, dear, I was wondering when you were coming," the landlady greeted, smiling.

"Sorry," Alison apologized. "Traffic was horrible, as usual."

"No matter," Mrs. Hudson said, waving it off. "Do you need help with these?"

"No, of course not!" Alison exclaimed quickly. "I've got it handled."

"Well, I'll make you some tea then," Mrs. Hudson said as she headed back into the flat.

Alison turned to the lorry driver, who nodded to her in greeting, then turned to open the back of the lorry. A pair of other men - Alison smirked, imagining Mycroft ordering a couple of government minions to go move furniture and their dramatic reactions to such a mundane task - emerged from the back and brought out a sofa, carrying it carefully inside.

Alison remained to oversee them bringing in her things, doing her best to treat the actually-new furniture as if she had known it all her life. She knew it was imperative her cover was convincing, or else Sherlock would be in danger. Mrs. Hudson hovered, chatting with Alison, seeming very excited to be getting a new tenant. Alison was grateful she didn't ask too many questions about her life in Cardiff; though she was confident she could sound genuine, she hated lying to her new landlady about what had brought her here.

Eventually, as the moving-in was almost completed, Mrs. Hudson remembered she had clothes in the wash and bustled off. Alison turned to Mycroft's men.

"Thank you," she murmured, and they nodded conspiratorially, smiling slightly at her. She watched them leave, but one paused to wink at her. She frowned, then recognized Sherlock's bright ocean eyes behind an undeniably clever disguise.

"Really, a wig?" she whispered as she passed him. "And what's with those clothes?" But she was grinning, amazed she hadn't noticed it was him, so he smiled back.

"Later," he whispered, and slipped from the room after the others. She heard the lorry drive away moments later, and sighed. How had she not seen Sherlock?

"Hey Alison," John's voice greeted her from the doorway, and she spun around to see him entering her flat. He surely must have passed Sherlock in the corridor, and Alison mentally flinched. So close. Sherlock would have to be more careful.

"Hey John," she put on a cheerful smile.

"Want some help?" he asked, gesturing to her boxes. She saw he wanted a distraction, had probably had a nightmare of some sort that night; Sherlock had once mentioned he had them to her, and the circles under John's eyes told her that her assumption was probably accurate. So she nodded, and they began to unpack her things, talking. He was easy to talk to, but she was careful not to ask him too much about his own life, instead telling him about her favorite books and stories from her life in Cardiff. They discovered they both enjoyed Doctor Who, so discussed that for a while, arguing over who was a better companion, Amy or Rose. Alison finally got to see John genuinely laugh, and was glad she had been the one to make him do so.

At quarter to ten, she pretended to remember that she had promised to meet a friend whom she hadn't seen in a while as an excuse to go to Angelo's for her meeting with Sherlock's informant. She left Baker Street, promising to be back in time for lunch.

A minute later, she was in a cab, not daring to walk even short distances, texting Sherlock.

_On the way to meet your friend. Why did you risk that disguise though? If either of them recognized you! AH_

The answer came back quickly, as if Sherlock had been waiting for a text like that.

_May I point out that even you didn't recognize me. As ever, people see what they expect to; in this case, so did you. Also, my friend will tell you a code word, just so you know it's him and not an imposter. The word, or rather name, will be "Severus." SH_

Alison read the text and grinned, nostalgia washing over her at the mention of the name.

_You still remember that? AH_

_Of course I do. It was one of the first good memories I have of that school. SH_

_What do you mean? AH_

_Meeting you. You made things bearable there, especially that class. SH_

Alison smiled. That was the closest Sherlock ever got to sentiment, even with her, even after all this time. He was not a sociopath, whatever he may claim; he just didn't know how to show his emotions very well. But Alison knew he cared for her. Those few words were all she needed to affirm that.

oOOOo

Sherlock saw Alison's startled expression once she realized he was there, slight worry registering on her face. Her gaze flickered around as if to ensure they were alone. Good, she was getting paranoid, which would help in keeping her cover convincing.

"Really, a wig? And what's with those clothes?" she whispered. He walked past her, knowing he needed to leave before he lingered too long, too conspicuously.

"Later," he replied softly, knowing he would be getting a text message from her the next chance she got. She let him go, shaking her head, clearly exasperated with his fearlessness.

He slipped down the corridor, the other men Mycroft sent waiting for him. They were actually professional body guards trained in hand-to-hand combat. Mycroft was risking nothing; he trusted these men almost as much as Sherlock. Of course, his trust in his brother didn't stop the British Government from being annoyed when Sherlock had told him he was going to Baker Street too. Sherlock had gotten quite a stern lecture about the consequences if John were to learn he was alive, not that said lecture had convinced him to stay awake. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Sherlock just wanted to see John and Mrs. Hudson again, even if just for a moment, even if it meant having to carry furniture into a flat for two hours. He missed them, though he pretended not to.

Shaking the thoughts away, especially of the ache in his chest opened up by seeing Mrs. Hudson again, he continued out of the flat. Just as he passed the stairs leading up to 221B, however, John came down them, brushing past him slightly, causing Sherlock to start.

"Oh sorry, mate," John apologized, but Sherlock just gave him a nod and left. He shut the door quickly, leaning against it for a moment, needing support.

John had had another nightmare last night. He was almost limping. His eyes were haunted and saddened. His stance was almost defensive, military-like, body language revealing how he was locking away his emotions. Alison had told Sherlock some of this, had said how John was suffering, but seeing it in person was jarring.

Guilt coursed through Sherlock.

"John," he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment. Collecting himself quickly, he stood up straight and got onto the lorry with the other men. Soldier on, Sherlock told himself, if John can do it, so can you.

"I'm sorry."

oOOOo

_The lab was finished, the results collected, the instruments put away. Alison and Sherlock gathered their bags and notebooks, queuing at the door with the other students. Their professor stood there, and he gave Sherlock and Alison a fierce look._

_"These lab reports are due next class," he said, somehow making the statement a rather sinister threat. "I expect you all to have them here, or face the consequences." Sherlock rather felt as if the man's gaze was boring into his skull and was sure, if he were a normal person, he would have been cowering in a corner right now. _

_"Have a good day." Even that sounded dark, and the moment they were out of the class and headed down the corridor, Alison burst into laughter._

_"I can't believe him," she stammered breathlessly between laughs. "He is such a Snape!"_

_"Sorry, he's a what?" Sherlock asked, perplexed._

_Alison paused. "You haven't read those books?" she exclaimed, all amusement vanished. "You have not lived!" _

_"Wait, what books?"_

_Alison sighed. "You've got some learning to do, Sherlock, and not just in chemistry."_

_He frowned, but when she winked, he realized she was just giving him a hard time. He smiled, and they walked from the science building together, him just letting her prattle on about these wizard book things, wondering why he found her so engaging. Was it what she was saying, or...?_

_Or was it just Alison herself? _

**More backstory of Alison and Sherlock coming soon! And next up: Alison meets the informant, Sherlock has doubts, and John considers leaving Baker Street. **

**If you can guess who the informant is, go for it! Hint: He's in one of the ACD Holmes stories, post Final Problem. **

**Please review; even if you hate it (which I hope you don't) I'd enjoy feedback! :)**


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